Misplaced Compassion?

Misplaced Compassion?
Date of Scene:	16 February 2013
Location:	Cloud Nine - Third Floor - Guest Room
Synopsis:	After being saved from Garland's wrath by Isaac, Morrighan languishes in the Twilight Detective Agency, prisoner and ward at the same time. Unfortunately for her, Maximilien Amadeus Renaud-Sylvianne is too kind-hearted to leave well enough alone...
Cast of Characters:	Morrighan Alazne, Maximilien

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Maximilien has posed:
Traverse Town's Cloud Nine is the home of the Twilight Detective Agency. Situated in a strategic and comfortable location, the TDA have easy access to most of the city, and can come and go more or less as they please. This is doubly true for the TDA's one and only phantom thief, the mysterious Maximilien Amadeus Renaud-Sylvianne, who comes and goes *everywhere* as he pleases whether he has the keys of not; the only difference in the TDA building is that Max is allowed to do so.

Currently, the phantom thief is on his way down the hall to the guest room slash prisoner's quarters slash patient's room. He's holding a tray in one hand, balancing it delicately as he moves for the door; in his other hand, a very ornate, runed cane. Any spellcaster worth their salt would be able to tell it's loaded down with magics, though what sort of magics might be a bit skewed simply because of the sheer amount piled onto the thing.

Max opens the door. He steps inside, shutting it behind himself, and sets the tray down on the table. Then he pulls up a chair and sits down, crossing his long legs, and looks over at the prisoner-slash-patient calmly, a smile on his face - the practiced smile of a man who can slip in and out of emotions like most people slip in and out clothes.

And then he waits.

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
It has been about a day or so since Morrighan's not-so-little summoning ritual was confronted by heroes and villains alike, all temporarily united under a single cause; stopping her. Needless to say, she did not escape unharmed. Bruises that has initially marred her body were quickly done away with by healing magic, thus leaving only a dull ache throughout her body, as well as a splitting headache. All in all, it could have been much worse than it was.

Once she was well enough to move, the first thing she had attempted of course was to escape. But alas, the doors and windows were sealed quite firmly. Sealed magically of course, and she was in no condition to be cracking magical seals. Thus, the elven woman found herself stuck in this room for now. No one had come to interrogate her yet, but nevertheless, she remained deathly silent. Any thoughts had were had were kept firmly to herself. Yet, she wondered just when they were going to start. Being kept waiting around was utterly abhorrent after all.

Eventually though, the door to the room opened, revealing a rather tall man, taller than her in any case, but that was not a hard thing to accomplish. Morrighan did not recognize him in any case, and watching him sit down at the table her eyes narrowed slightly. Who was this man? And what did he want?

So began the staring contest.

Maximilien has posed:
So begins the staring contest.

Max's eyes never waver, his smile never falters as he sits there, staring into Morrighan's eyes. He says nothing; his fingers stray from the cane into his lap politely, and he begins tapping one finger against the back of his hand, as though counting the seconds mentally - which indeed he is, for a variety of reasons, most important among them his own schedule. He considers her face calmly; he'd met Dark Elves before in his travels (Max was /very/ well-travelled), so he was familiar with the general permutations of them, and he was currently trying to figure out which permutation of Dark Elf this particular specimen belonged to. He was a curious man; it came from being a thief, after all.

When one steals for a living, one becomes very adept at poking one's nose into all sorts of businesses, and curiousity becomes something of an adaptation to the whole affair. Max has been a thief an especially long while, which of course makes him especially curious.

Finally, he breaks the stare, his smile widening just a bit as his eyes sink shut. He gestures to the tray of food; warm soup that smells of dough and meat and vegetables, warm (and fresh-looking) bread, and a tall, cold glass of water. "You ought to eat, madamoiselle; sleep is only one component of beauty, and you have a great deal of beauty to maintain, mais non? It would not do to have such a pretty face become lined with hunger."

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
The staring continued for a while longer as Morrighan studied the man before her. Certainly the most flameboyant human she'd ever laid her eyes on. Whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen. But usually, her first thought was to call it a bad thing. Baron certainly had it's fair share of flameboyant individuals, which led to no end of headaches.

But there was something else. She got a strange feeling from him. The way he carried himself. It was loose, open, but still, it was also confident. He knew what he was doing. That smile on his face was not just because he was being nice. He likely had a backup plan in case she decided to start flinging magic at him. A tempting idea really, but also a stupid one. Even if she fried him, there was no promise that an escape would be made possible.

Once he began speaking though, her own fears were mentally affirmed; he was one of those flameboyant individuals. Mentally sighing, the dark elf managed to resist the urge to facepalm at this man's words. But despite that, he would be correct in assuming that she was hungry. She hadn't eaten in about two days thus far. A nice, bloody, prime rib would have been wonderful right about now. Not this piddly human concocted soup. And of course, she could not resist voicing such thoughts.

"Hmph! You expect someone of my stature to eat this slop? What utter nonsense! I am no dog! I expect food of a much higher quality!" As if forgetting who was the captive here, Morrighan crossed her arms in a huff, turning up her nose at Max and the offered tray of food like the spoiled princess she was.

As expected really.

Maximilien has posed:
"Ah, a shame. I made it especially for you; I had doubts, of course, that it would measure up to your exacting specifications from the moment I saw you brought in, but, well," Max waves his hand airily at the room, his smile widening a bit more. "One must forgive a chef his limited ingredients."

He knows this game. He knows this game well. Max's hand returns to his lap, and he resumes considering her face; his eyes do not roam as a low-class man's might be tempted to do, nor does he glance around the room nervously, considering escape options in case she threw a temper tantrum. He sits there, and he stares at her eyes, and he smiles. It is probably a little bit infuriating.

"Ah, but, where are my manners?" Max suddenly interrupts his own consideration, folding his hand over his chest politely. "I sit here in the presence of a noble lady, and I have yet to introduce myself. Je m'appelle Maximilien; Maximilien Amadeus Renaud-Sylvianne. I am, ever so humbly, at your service, Madamoiselle Alazne; if you have need of something, you have but to ask me, oui?"

He stands, then bows politely, inclining his head and everything. Then he sits back down, crossing his legs once again, not missing a beat. "I will make certain the next meal is up to your specifications. In the mean time, I suppose it would be a shame to let it go to waste." Max reaches over and picks up the tray, then looks over at her, his smile widening a bit. "Madamoiselle would not mind if I enjoyed the fruits of my own labor, would she? I would not wish to offend; eating in front of a lady *is*, after all, tremendously rude if she has nothing on her plate, but I would hate to let this meal go cold."

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
"Excuses." Was all Morrighan had to say in reply to his spiel. Still irritated, she calmed down enough to relax her posture just a bit. Reduced to just glaring at the man before her. The way he just continued to smile and smile was more than infuriating. And even though he was technically doing nothing wrong, it just /irked/ her. Where /was/ everyone else anyhow? Or was this alone some sort of specialized torture?

Nevertheless, she listened as he introduced himself. Maximilien Amadeus Renaud-Sylvianne. It was even more long winded than her own name. Who would have thought such a thing was possible? Well, it was certainly impressive, though not entirely in a good way. "At my service? Is that so? Then let me go at once! I have no desire to remain in this dog house any longer than I already have!"

Probably a rather predictable demand from the dark elf, but it was the first thing to cross her mind. In the meantime however, a wave of her hand was given in response to Max's wishing to partake in his own cooking. "Hmph! Such a thing hardly bothers me. Go, sate your hunger." And with that said, she looked away again, obviously angry with the whole situation. And this smiling individual before her certainly wasn't helping the matter any. "Where are you cohorts anyhow? Why has no one come to try and interrogate me?"

It was rather suspicious. Usually when you capture someone, you try and gain information from them. This treatment was hardly normal.

Maximilien has posed:
"Excuses are all a man can make when he has failed a beautiful woman, in the hope that she might shower him with her blessed forgiveness," Max replies cheerfully as he breaks the warm bread, letting the scent of literally freshly-baked bread fill the room. It smells very sweet; he probably used some trick or another to make it look as doughy as the inside looks, too, given how hard the crust appears. He dips a little of it into the soup, taking a careful bite.

So either it wasn't poisoned, or he was immune to the poison.

"I apologize, madamoiselle. Were it in my power to release you, I assuredly would; I loathe seeing a woman bound." Max sets the tray down on the table near her again, his cheerful smile shifting into a frown at a moment's notice. "However, it is not my decision that decides your freedom. So in the interim, I have volunteered to take it upon myself to ensure that madamoiselle is as comfortable as possible, as those who *are* in charge decide what they wish to do with you."

His frown deepens a bit more. "I imagine they are discussing what to do with you. You are responsible for quite a few hardships in their lives; you are likely not anyone's friend at the moment, given the display I understand you put on at that tree. Again, in the meantime, I am here to ensure that you are comfortable; I am not, myself, particularly concerned with your reasons or desires, as I am certain whatever reasons you have for doing what you did are good ones to you, and I know how dangerous it can be when one gets caught up in one's ambitions, mais non?"

Max unfolds his hands and spreads his long arms in a shrug. His fingers are delicate and gentle-looking; they look like a piano player's hands, free of callouses or bruises. Then his fingers settle back into his lap. He hasn't touched the food since; he's just letting that delicious smell fill the room.

"If you wish to tell me about them, of course, I have no objection to listening, but I am a man who stands by his word - I am not here to interrogate you. Anything you say to me will remain in my confidence; you have my word."

There's something about the way he says 'you have my word' - about the way his eyes soften, and his smile relaxes, and his picture-perfect storybook posture shifts just a bit. He...probably really means it.

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
That smell filling the room. It was...it was almost irresistable. She could feel her stomach rumbling faintly, but thankfully it hadn't yet reached the point of audibility. But still Morrighan refused to eat what she considered to be low class food, no matter how good it actually smelled. That was just hunger talking. And she would not give in to hunger's desires and partake in cheap food! Or something like that in any case. We'll see how long she lasts.

"So what you are basically saying is that you cannot let me go free and you are simply here to waste my time. How wonderful." The elven woman sighed at that, lowering her just a tad and staring at the surface of the table silently. Of course, she had no room to complain, considering the shenanigans that she had caused some time ago. And of course, being their captive was likely much more fortunate than being Garland's.

Speaking of which, what happened to Valos anyhow? She would have asked, but it was not likely that Max would no, considering he was not there to see. Or so she thought in any case. "...Hmph. I will never be comfortable as long as I am to be restrained to this room." In the meantime, that smell assaulted her senses again and her eyes unconsciously found themselves eyeing the tray of food once more. Do not give in, do /not/ give in!

"Tell you about it? Now why would I ever do something so asinine as to..." Morrighan had begun to speak, having prepared a slew of insults to throw at Max, but one look at his face caused her to falter. He /actually/ looked like he meant it. ...But then, the dark elf had been alive long enough that she had developed a rather strong paranoia for 'nice gestures'. What if he was acting? She could relay everything and he could just smile, walk out, and tell 'those people' everything.

"O-Of course I will not tell you anything!" She decided, looking away in a huff once again. "Tell those fools that if they want information, they will have to pry it from my cold, dead fingers!"

Maximilien has posed:
"You are perfectly free not to tell me a thing; I am here for your convenience, not for theirs. I assure you, they would not nearly be so underhanded in their attempts to interrogate a prisoner; I do not think half of them understand the very definition of the word *subterfuge*." Max snorts. "One of them in particular is so bull-headed I am convinced he would win if he ever butted heads with an actual bull."

Max snorts a little bit. There's only the slightest hint of disdain for someone he clearly considers less intelligent than himself. (Given the subject, he's probably right, too.) Then he shakes his head, his smile returning again. "Non, madamoiselle. I am here to make you comfortable. If you wish to *waste* time, then you have all the time in the world to waste, I think, so it may as well not be a chore to do so, mm?"

Max reaches forward and pulls another piece of that thick, doughy bread apart, dipping it in the soup and taking another bite. He chews on it for a long moment, allowing the silence to settle in, allowing that to be the only, subtle noise in the room; his long fingers press together on his lap, tapping together thoughtfully. "I tell you what, madamoiselle. I will speak to someone about allowing you a bit more freedom, mmm? It would not do to see you wither away in this little room, and you seem so very unhappy that I cannot help but be moved."

"In the meantime, I will offer whatever entertainment I can. If you have no interest in speaking to me about whatever troubles you, would you at least do me the honor of telling me more about yourself? It is very hard to appreciate a work of art, after all, without the context."

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
He was doing that on purpose. He was definitely doing that on purpose! And she /was/ hungry! But this....this...soup! "W-Well...considering the members of this little organization that I have had the displeasure of meeting..." Let's see. First there was Will, the man who didn't seem to know what a shower was. And then there was Tom, the guy who thought punches solved everything. And then Mercade, who was just irritating all around. Avira, let's not talk about her. Oh and then Isaac! The fool who decided to uncur Garland's wrath in order to secure her as a captive! Wonderful lineup of people!

"...I wonder how they get things done in the first place." Ouch. Nevertheless, Morrighan nodded slightly at Max's offer. "Do be quick about it. Though I highly doubt they will relent to your appeal now." Following that, he had asked her about herself, of course in a much more...unique manner. "Work of art? Well, of course I am a work of art! I am me after all!" Pressing a hand just above her chest, she smile proudly, exuding pure ego over that particular claim.

Suppose it wouldn't hurt to waste some time talking about things not related to her plans. It would take her mind off her hunger anyhow. "What do you wish to know then?"

Maximilien has posed:
He is definitely doing that on purpose, given the proximity of the tray to her bed. She could eat it at any moment, and there'd be nothing he could do about it. (Well, that wasn't quite true, because he *was* an infamous phantom thief...but she didn't need to know that.) He plucks one final piece from the bread; he doesn't dip it this time. "I was told, once, that fresh bread is the most noble of all food," Max observes idly, "For it serves to bring together the taste of any other, as a noble must serve to ensure that his people are brought together beneath his rule."

She mentions the members of the TDA she's met, and Max laughs, the sort of laugh of someone who knows /exactly/ what she means and /exactly/ why she might consider it a displeasure. "Oui, oui. They can be *trying* people, that is for certain. Incredibly, incredbly trying. Thick-headed, doing whatever they believe they should do with *no* concept of finesse...I am firmly convinced that the only reason they succeed is phenomenal good luck, and the skill of a few of their more elite members." Max shakes his head and tsks into the roof of his mouth, clicking his tongue against his teeth disapprovingly.

He doesn't comment on his appeal; he knows Mercade is soft-hearted enough to agree to it. All he has to do is the say the same he said to Isaac. He shakes his head again, his smile widening. "You are, indeed, a work of art, without question. Your eyes, the curve of your lips, the elegant manner of your hair; it is as if painted by the hand of a master."

"But I have no doubt you have heard more than enough empty flattery over your lifetime. I wish to know about you, Madamoiselle Alazne - ah, excusez-moi, but may I call you by your first name? I do not wish to be rude, of course. In any case...I wish to know about you. Whatever you wish to tell me, mmm? Whatever you are comfortable telling me about. Your homeland, your upbringing, your favorite food - that one may especially be helpful, if I am to make a meal to your liking - your favorite childhood game...whatever you wish."

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
Max's compliments, though heard by her before in some other variations do not fail to stroke her ego regardless. Her smile widened with each word and a giggle escape from her. "Mhmhmhm, you have quite a way with words now. Of course, they are all true, but nevertheless~" In retrospect, it was exceedingly easy to play to Morrighan's good side now. It was almost amusing in a way. But of course, the hunger she felt soon made itself known after, causing her stomach to grumble a little more audibly.

"...Um. That was..." Very gradually, a blush managed to creep it's way onto the white mage's face. Her stomach had betrayed her! Of all the times! "...F-Fine! I will eat this poor excuse for a meal that you have presented before me, but I will not enjoy it!" Or so she said anyway. Pulling the tray closer to herself, she finally took up the spoon and tried some of the soup. ...It tasted as good as it smelled. Not that she would admit such a thing. "Hmph! It is hardly adequate, but it will do for now."

You win, Max. She's eating. Congratulations. After taking a couple spoonfuls of the soup and some bites of bread, enough to silence her stomach for now, Morrighan began to speak once more. "My first name? ...Very well. You may." A nod is given as the dark elf considered the words following. "My homeland? ...That is..." That was a tough one. She didn't know /what/ her homeland was. Not her true homeland in any case. May as well go with the alternative then.

"I was raised in a village called Elfheim. It was populated by Light Elves. So being who I am, you can imagine how fun my childhood was." She didn't sound all that broken up about it though. Rather, she chuckled a bit before taking in another spoonful of soup. "My favorite food. Well that is easy. Only the finest of meat of course. I prefer prime rib. The bloodier it is, the better~" ...Suppose that even if she carried herself nobly, there were still some things she would not, or perhaps, could not shake from her heritage. Interesting.

"As for childhood games and the like. My childhood days were spent dealing with older children who thought it to be a game by ostracizing me. Ah, but that taught me a great many skills I would use later on." Looking up in thought then, Morrighan tapped her cheek lightly. "Perhaps I go about finding and 'thanking' them." Somehow, thanking didn't seem to be an altruistic thing in this case.

Maximilien has posed:
It was kind of funny. Max was pretty sure he had the right of her. That did make it easy to get her to cooperate...but...

Well, there was that problem of Max's conscience. He could, probably, get what he wanted out of her. He could probably get what the /TDA/ wanted out of her, though he'd already made an agreement with her not to tell them even if he DID find out. He was an honorable man, which was of course a funny trait in a sneaky thieving sort of man, but then, Max was anything but the typical sneaky thief. He listens, his attention honest as well as polite; he nods at the right times not out of a calculated interest but out of genuine interest, taking the measure of her from each little piece of data she offered him. She tells him of her homeland, of her childhood; she tells him of her life and her desire for bloody prime rib, of her childhood tortures, and Max's smile quickly fades. There's earnest empathy in his eyes; real, honest empathy, the kind of empathy you get when you've been through a similar experience. But of course that's not possible, right?

Max nods a final time as she ends her story. His fingers go to his chin, brushing against it thoughtfully, delicately; his eyes remain locked on hers, sad - but not pitying. No, no pity in those eyes; he knows better.

"I see. And are you proud of those skills, Madamoiselle Morrighan?" It rolls off his tongue, or he makes it roll off his tongue, flowing like wine into a glass. It doesn't sound judgemental, either; just...curious. "I imagine you must be. I...imagine you had a great deal of practice."

"What do you enjoy, then? What brings a smile to your glowing face, a spring to your undoubtedly appealing step? What makes you happy, Madamoiselle Morrighan?"

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
Morrighan nodded at Max's question, not giving too much thought to his expressions. She just figured he was being infuriating as he had been. "Of course I am proud of them. It is those skills that allowed me to advance much farther than I would have otherwise." Another nod of confirmation after saying that and then she took a couple moments to eat a bit more of the soup and bread, taking a sip of the water after.

"Undoubtedly, it is what made me who I am today. And I am not at all ashamed of that fact!" And assuredly, she was not. Morrighan was a proud woman, and she carried herself as such nearly at all times. Perhaps it was a bit overbearing, but at the end of the day, she was never going to regret her childhood. Interesting. Max's final question caused Morrighan to tilt her head slightly in wonder.

"What makes me happy...?" That was actually a hard question. She lived her life all this time only seeking to take care of herself and ensure her survival. Things that actually made her happy, that were not superficial or otherwise fleeting in their presence...she could not answer. A silence reigned throughout the room then. A rather telling testament to her inability to answer the question.

Maximilien has posed:
Max nods. He'd more or less expected her answer, really; she seemed the sort of person who was proud of the path life had pushed her down. She may not have chosen that path entirely, but she walked it with her head held high, and that was admirable in its own way, a sort of black admiration for a nobility that managed to shine through despite the terrible darkness clinging to it. He could appreciate that; he crosses his arms and leans back, waiting for an answer to his second question.

Silence fills the room. The sounds of Traverse Town may break through, but there is silence in the room itself, and it is an overwhelming silence, and oppressing silence that swallows and crushes the music of the city and the sounds of life beneath its heel. It is unpleasant, and were Max a less composed man, less able to step outside himself and observe the situation from a distance, he would be horribly uncomfortable. But he is not a less composed man, and so the look on his face does not waver, and he waits for a good minute or so. Then he breaks the silence, standing up, the chair scraping across the floor; his face gets very close to hers for a brief moment, close enough that she can smell him (he smells like flowers), his eyes running across hers for a moment, as if searching for...something. He holds his face there for all of a moment, then breaks away, straightening and turning so he can sit back in his chair.

"Then we shall have to find what makes you truly happy, mmm?" Max offers. His fingers brush against his chest again. "You see, I do not believe that a woman can truly be appreciated until she has been truly happy. It is the moment when all eyes are on her, when she knows that she above all others is the most special beauty, the rarest flower, that a woman's truest beauty comes forth."

Max's finger rises, and he smiles. "And that is a problem, Madamoiselle Morrighan. If you do not know what makes you happy, then how am I to appreciate you at your fullest? Therefore, I shall simply have to find something that will, indeed, make you smile."

It is probably at this moment that Morrighan will notice that, at some point during his very up-close stare, he slipped a flower into her hair. Max leans back, folding his hands together again as he crosses his legs.

A woman who had nothing to make her happy was the loneliest thing in the world, and damned if he wasn't going to do his best to stop the TDA from ostracizing her before he managed to make her smile. "Well. I suppose, then, that I shall ask you no more about yourself. Is there anything you wish to ask me? Hospitality demands, after all."

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
The momentMax stood up, Morrighan had figured that he had finally decided to call it quits and leave. ...But then he got far too close for what was considered to be proper, causing her to frown slightly. But she did not draw back, meeting his eyes equally, wondering just what he was up to at this very moment. And what was that smell? Was that...him? ...Well it certainly beat smelling of sweat and grime and whatever unmentionables he could have.

"Find what truly makes me happy, you say?" Morrighan inquired warily, finding his statement to be one that was hard to believe. Her eyes followed his form as he drew back, arm crossing in the meantime. "...And just how, pray tell, do you plan to figure that out now?" At that moment however, the dark elf had noticed that there was a slight additional weight in her hair. "Hmn?" Reaching up with a hand, she felt a flower in her hair, which caused her to raise an eyebrow.

"...Oh?" When did Max even manage to find to the time to...? This man was danerous. Perhaps not in the physical violence sort of way, but he was one to be mindful of if he could pull off something like that in such close proximity without her even noticing at all.

Nevertheless, she decided to leave it be for now and focused her attention back to the man before her. What did she want to ask about him? A good question. Where could she even begin? "I suppose if I were to ask...It would be 'Why are you with these people?'"

A simple question to start things out.

Maximilien has posed:
"Trial and error, I suppose," Max replies as she asks how he plans to figure out what makes her happy. "I will come up with something. I am very resourceful."

Max slowly holds out his hand and gestures at the area as she asks him why he was with 'these people'. In truth, he still thought of them as 'those people', too; they were people he considered friend*ly*, considered *allies*, but 'friends' was a word that Max had...a great deal of trouble with. Doubtless it would've upset more than one of them to know such a thing. It wasn't that he didn't like them - he did, he liked them very much. But...friendship was something more than just liking people. It was confiding. It was being honest. And Max was very bad at that sort of personal honesty.

Not for lack of trying to improve, though. He just kept trying to improve with the wrong people.

"I am with them because I have need of them, and they have need of me, though many of them may disapprove of that fact. I am with them because I am fond of them, because despite their eagerness and their gullibility, they are singularly good people, willing to risk a great deal for complete strangers, and that is very rare in these dangerous worlds, and I am the sort of man who is very good at safeguarding the gullible from the manipulations of others."

"Does that satisfy you, Madamoiselle Morrighan?"

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
"Hmph! You hardly have that much time now." Morrighan huffed, tightening up her crossed arms. "I will not be here forever! You people cannot hold me forever. Therefore, I question your claim that you will be able to come up with something in that small frame of time." ...Surely they wouldn't be able to hold her for too long now, right? Someone would notice that she was missing. Someone definitely would.

Following that however, the healer settled down, listening as Max explained his reasons for being with this ragtag group known as the TDA. It was...about what she expected at the end of the day. They had need of each other. And though it was not an entirely sentimental, buddy buddy sort of thing, it worked out for them. She could say the same thing about her alliance with Baron. But then, that was rapidly crumbling as the days passed by.

"I suppose that does satisfy me for now. Finding a place in a group is much more convenient than wandering these worlds alone now." Indeed, that was the primary reason she joined Baron. In retrospect, she could have ended up with nearly any other group. But Baron simply found her first. "Then let me ask; Do you people actually solve mysteries? Or do you mostly just run headfirst into problems and hope friendship speeches and a few punches will solve things for you?"

Because lets be serious, that was all she's seen the TDA do so far!

Maximilien has posed:
"I am not exactly part of these people, madamoiselle; I am something of an associate, more than I am a member." Max shakes his head. He really didn't quite consider himself PART of the TDA, not REALLY. Much like Morrighan probably didn't think she was really part of Baron, he never really considered himself a member...because it was, in fact, more convenient not to be. "As much for their protection as my own."

"But...as far as I know, they are dedicated to helping people. Whether that means solving mysteries or offering a chance to those who would not have a chance otherwise, they are people who follow their hearts. Personally, I do not take much stock in following my heart; I prefer my professional acumen. It keeps me a great deal safer than hope and friendship, mais no?" Max laughs. He's serious, but he laughs; a disarming, very human laugh, not the airy chuckle he had a little bit ago.

"As for your captivity, no, I cannot imagine it will last forever, nor do I wish it to - as sweet as it may be to have you all to myself at the moment, great art needs to be on display for everyone to see, oui? So while you are my guest - and you are my guest, even if you are their prisoner - I will do what I can to draw out the hidden smile I know is lurking inside you. And if our time should come to an end before then, then perhaps I shall have to seek you out there, too. I am quite skilled when it comes to finding people; it is a talent I have found very useful in these troublesome days, ehn?"

"But for now, I think, you are probably tired of my prattling. Do you have any other questions, or shall I go and find you some rib to suit your taste, and leave you to your rest?"

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
Well in all fairness, she did really figure that Max was part of 'them'. He was far too different. Far too 'logical'. He didn't seem tp run off friendship and burning spirit. It was almost the polar opposite of these geniuses. Regardless, she had heard enough for now. Finishing the rest of the soup and bread, Morrighan then downed the water before setting the glass back onto the tray.

"Hmph! I highly doubt that you will actually waste your precious time to seek me out, should you fail in your endeavors here. There are far more important things to attend to, no?" Because it did seem rather frivolous to seek someone out for such a thing in these times where worlds were falling and shadow lords were conspiring behind the scenes. ...Wait a moment, she /is/ a shadow lord! Whoops!

"I am tired now. I would love to leave this place, but I cannot. Therefore, I am going to rest. Let me know then 'those people' finally decide to do something. I do hate being kept waiting now." And with that Said, Morrighan stood up from the table, her chair scooting back as she did so. She then made her way over to the bed nearby and sat down on the surface, apparently not going to lay down until Max took his leave.

Maximilien has posed:
"My time is not so precious that I cannot spend a bit of it fulfilling a promise to a beautiful woman," Max replies, his original smile growing back across his face as he stands and lets his opera cape just rooooll off the chair. "I am, after all, a tremendously selfish man. I shall see you again, Madamoiselle Morrighan. For now, enjoy your rest, mmm?"

And then he turns and heads out the door, locking it behind him, and heads down the hallway.

Max was really starting to wonder if he had some sort of mental damage! His choice in women was absolutely /suicidal!/